Quinn and I blew and dyed eggs this week. Well -- I blew and dyed eggs, and she sat nearby completely confused about what I was doing, but I think it still counts as a mother-daughter activity.

It took a surprisingly long time. Unfortunately I didn't actually bother reading any sort of tutorial until after they were finished, so I only now know that you can use a syringe instead of giving yourself an aneurysm trying to shoot egg yolk out a pin-size hole with only the force of your own breath.

Once they had been hollowed out, we had to solve the problem of how to keep them submerged in the vinegar-purple cabbage water (which smelled fabulous, BTW) for the four hours it took to turn them from white to blue. The answer: an inverted colander. Thankfully, I did consult the internet when it came time to actually hang them -- hot gluing buttons to the tops of the eggs was the most satisfying part of the entire process, aside from actually hanging them on the Easter tree.

The moral of the story: It takes a long time to blow and dye eggs. But who cares, really? Once it's over, it's over, and you have pretty eggs hanging from a branch.

Other things that felt like they took a very long time:

Getting my degree

Finishing journalism school

Building this website

Childbirth

Re-watching the entire series of Gilmore Girls (seriously, there's like 20 episodes per season)

Writing literally anything

The actual pace of life doesn't always line up with our desires. My brain would much prefer a steady clip of accomplishment interspersed with the occasional nap. In reality it's all fits and starts, rejection letters, disappointments and sudden successes, peaceful moments and panic attacks.

But when I look back... somehow, it all got done. The degree is framed and collecting dust under my bed. My newborn baby is two years old. And somehow, despite my stress and procrastination and turtle-paced typing, the pages got filled. Every one of them.